Father of the Year Award

It’s only been five months into 2008 and already The Douchebag has been nominated for Father of the Year. Wow, he’s really attached to this award, isn’t he? Well, who am I to reject such a violent nomination? And the reason for such an achievement? Read on ..

A week ago:

The Douchebag: Can I ask a favor? You might or might not know but I don’t have a job right now. If you can take care of Isabella’s necessities right now, I’ll pay you back when I get one.
Uneditedmara: Okay. (NOT.)

Yesterday:

The Nanny: Isabella has a fever again. And her medicine is good for this afternoon but she won’t have any tonight.
Uneditedmara: Okay, I’m still at work. Let me call The Douchebag to help you out. He’s not doing anything anyway.

Uneditedmara: Isabella is sick. Call The Nanny.

(five minutes later…)
Uneditedmara: Did you call The Nanny? What did they need? (Asking although fully knowing the answer already)
The Douchebag: Isabella needs her medicine. I told The Nanny to just buy at the pharmacy.
Uneditedmara: WHAT? WHAT?! You told The Nanny to buy the medicine HERSELF and leave/cart YOUR SICK CHILD?
The Douchebag: What? What do you want me to do?
Uneditedmara: *hangs up*

(five minutes later…)
Uneditedmara: Let me ask. Do you have a job?
The Douchebag: No.
Uneditedmara: Are you at home?
The Douchebag: Yes.
Uneditedmara: Are you doing something?
The Douchebag: No.
Uneditedmara: Is what you’re doing terribly important?
The Douchebag: I said, I wasn’t doing anything.
Uneditedmara: If that’s the case, then why the hell won’t you get up out of your ass and take some goddamned medicine to YOUR sick child?
The Douchebag: It doesn’t make sense for me to go all the way over there just to bring medicine.
Uneditedmara: SO?! So what if it doesn’t make sense?! YOUR. CHILD. IS. FUCKKEN. SICK.
The Douchebag: It’s already 5. And by the time I get showered, dressed, and going, it’ll already be traffic ..
Uneditedmara: (Mooootherfuuu…)
The Douchebag: And besides, I don’t have a car. The car isn’t here.
Uneditedmara: WHAT?! Has public transportation shut down today?! Do you realize how much of an asshole you sound like right now? SHE IS SICK. (How many times do I have to say this so it sinks in his fucking head?!) She needs her medicine. You are closer to her than I am. (AND YOU DON’T HAVE  A JOB. YOU DON’T HAVE A FUCKING JOB, YOU MORON!) !@#$%^&*
The Douchebag: What you want me to do is just illogical. To have to go all the way over there.
Uneditedmara: *slams down the phone, bangs it on the keyboards*

And so last night, I had to sprint home, it the thick of traffic to bring medicine to a child who, apparently, only has one parent. If you are a deadbeat, have a kid to support, and (should so rightly be) ashamed of your dipshit-like behavior towards an ex-fiancee, you should stop, drop, and roll at their every beckon. Stop sucking at the teat, you motherfucking cunt. Get up off your fat hairy ass and do something FOR YOUR DAUGHTER. Nobody else is asking anything from you. No one else has expectations for fear that being human is too much for you. FOR YOUR DAUGHTER..YOUR OWN FLESH AND BLOOD, FERCHRISSAKES!!!

I think, the award is all yours, Mr. Douchebag. You’ve certainly put on one hell of a performance; a performance from the heart. BRA-FUCKING-VO.

Letters to the people in Macau

Dear Over-eager-tarmac-officer,
No. We cannot see the fuel. You need to chill or I’mma snap some more pictures. Don’t make me use the flash! Stand back! I’ve got a 7.2 megapixel weapon in my hand! You a dumbass.

Dear Chinito-and-I’m-pretty-sure-Atenista-boy-complete-with-posse,
You’re all idiots. I bet you didn’t have as much fun in Macau as we did. And, oh. Your pictures prolly suck.

Dear Snoring-man-on-the-other-side-of-the-wall,
It is acceptable that we play “It’s Raining Men” and “Hips Don’t Lie” while we get dolled up in the morning because you’ve been playing such a riveting rendition of “Construction Workers of China Using a Jackhammer” in your sleep. We need the cover-up because of your nasal talents.

Dear San Va,
You are Smelly Cat if Smelly Cat were a hospedaria in Macau in the middle of Rua Felicidades. You are  a charming little thing even if you don’t look like much. The “suite” was amazing. And hot water + pressure = hostel WIN. I look forward to passing out drunk on one of your thinly spread mattress with a stone for a pillow in the near future.

Dear O Porto Interior,
Thanks for making my birthday lunch a very special one. We thoroughly enjoyed the clams, bacalhau, African chicken, and wine. I especially loved the birthday dessert! SERRADURA ROCKS MY WORLD! You are getting 5 awesome, twinkling stars.

Special Letter to Sands

Dear Carlito,
You made Sands home for me. No, it’s not only because magkababayan tayo (fellow countrymen), but because you took care of us when we were having one of the most miserable time during our trip. You didn’t need to say anything special or flatter us with compliments. You were warm, friendly, and accomodating. In short, you’re the oasis in a desert of non-English speaking cunts. You make our stay that much more special.

Dear Aleks,
Though Diana has called dibs on you, I would still like for you to catch me when it’s my turn to fall.

Dear Zeny,
Throw me. Throw me hard and all over the place. I trust in you.

Dear Andrei,
Hun, stop plucking once you reach your hairline. That being said, you are my favorite gigolo!

Dear Olga,
So .. what’s a beautiful girl like you?

Dear Victoria,
You are ever so luscious even when in pain.

Dear Honeys,
More birthdays, more boyfriends, more girlfriends, more girl friends!

Dear Sands girls,
Molest MC Barry for me, will you? He is a hot piece of UK-born-Chinese-singing ass.

Dear Antonio,
Best Portuguese food in the whole of Taipa. I’m coming back for more. And your sign out on the street .. it’s a classic, man.

Dear Lady-at-the-information-booth,
One word: VEET.

Dear Artists-by-the-river,
Apologies for the hysterical screaming and tourist-like behavior.

Dear Venetian gondolier (yes, you, the cute one),
Someday I shall ride your gonodola. *wink* *wink*

Dear Sendado Square Starbucks barista boy,
ONE PATACA!

Dear The-rest-of-the-Macanese-natives,
You suck balls. Learn to speak some goddamned English! *grumblemotherfuckersgrumble*

—

Macau, Part Deux by Bebot Angel

FUCK OFF

There is something wrong with this picture. Can you spot what it is? Hint: It’s got silicone in it’s chest and a spray-on tan on it’s skinny ass.

Top Gear, WHAT WENT THROUGH YOUR MOTHERFUCKING HEAD WHEN YOU MADE THIS?!?!

Must we be so blatant about .. wait .. what are you being blatant about? Because you parade around in skimpy outfits and shiny hair, but what is this really about? So you can pose and open your mouth, but can you do anything else? Aside from your sex appeal, what else can you offer me? The car alone is nice enough. It really is. It’s a DB5 for fucks sake. It’s simple and uncomplicated. Why the fuck are you messing with a good thing?

Okay, the girls are .. er .. nice. No, I take it back. I’m lying. They’re skanks and whores. (I just can tell. I have a 6th sense about these things.) But I’m being nice so I’ll say that they’re nice and that they look like they’re having fun. But they are unnecessary to this whole thing. REALLY. For someone who’s interest lies in the wonder behind all that spray-net and heels, the girls are not appreciated. It’s between me and the car, nothing else. The girls, yes, they might push me to buy the magazine faster, but they’re not why I was running to the store for. It’s the DB5. It’s reading about it and knowing about it more than just being another Aston Martin baby. It’s about the power and control and the harmony that can develop between driver and car. I want to know about that. I want to read about that. It’s ALL about me and the DB5.

If you wanted to insinuate sex, you failed. What I got from this is that these women are BLATANTLY unaware of how precious the DB5 is. People who do not understand why this is an awesome car should stay the hell away from it. If you want to learn as to why this is an awesome car, you shall be taught. But if you don’t ask, and you don’t want to know about it, hands off.

That slut bending over the hood should be bent over the sidewalk and kicked till her teeth willingly fall out. Do not hover with your gigantic fake tatas over the car. I am not amused.

15 choices

“MOVE,”
a Speed Dating event is happening
on April 26, Saturday, 7 pm
at V58 RESTO BAR, Ortigas.
P500, inclusive of dinner and drinks.
Please send your
NAME,
OCCUPATION,
AGE and
CONTACT NUMBER
to shiftlifestyles@gmail.com
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